


Blue Monday

by mechakucharumba



Category: Pokemon, Pokemon Black and White
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 07:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechakucharumba/pseuds/mechakucharumba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair wonders what it would be like to kiss her, if she would make that little squeaking noise when he wraps his arms around her waist and covers her mouth with his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Monday

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler alert it's just Blair wanking off because I like sexual introspection. This is literally a year old now--I'd had to go back and change all the names to the English ones.

It’s morning, and more out of boredom than any real sexual frustration, Blair finds himself staring up at the ceiling, cock half-hard in his hand. It’s just after sunrise, that period of time when the light is a sleepy blue just filtering through his window, his room only semi-visible. He lets his mind wander, figuring he might as well find something to think on and get this over with while the rest of the house is still asleep. Vague fantasies and images of girls scroll through his head, most of them things that will never happen and people who don’t exist. He sets on a brief thought of her purely by chance, probably because he’s turned his head to look at his very sparse bookshelf. Shauntal would probably be less than happy about his utter lack of enthusiasm for reading- she’d said as much when he visited her last week and nearly broken several limbs tripping over her stacks of books. Now that he thinks about her, Blair has to admit she’s right up his alley. Sure, he’s jacked off to buxom blondes like any guy his age, but realistically, she’s pretty much everything he likes in a girl- short, perky, maybe just a little scatterbrained, more “cute” than “beautiful”. Not a girl, really, he amends to himself- a woman, in spite of her wide-eyed enthusiasm that, in an offhand way, almost reminds him of Bianca’s. 

Blair wonders what it would be like to kiss her, if she would make that little squeaking noise when he wraps his arms around her waist and covers her mouth with his. More likely than not, that weird thing she wears around her neck would get in the way, and so Blair imagines himself taking it off, running the back of his hand gingerly over her bare collarbone. Her cheeks would probably turn bright pink, and she’d turn away, protesting that they really shouldn’t be doing this with all sorts of overly-long words Blair doesn’t know. He’d take this opportunity to press his lips to her throat, and she’d shudder beneath him and maybe grip his shoulders with gloved fingers. Sssh, he’d tell her with more confidence than he really has, nobody has to know. I’m quite a lot older than you, Shauntal would say back, pouting just a little, even as his hands slide up her back, searching for the zipper of her dress. He can just hear her saying it, hear the slightly breathy tone in her voice when he finds that zipper and begins to tug it down, fingers trailing over the curve of her spine. Now he’s starting to actually get hot and bothered, jerking up into his hand as he thinks just maybe she’d start to, what’s the word she’d use, reciprocate, taking his face in her hands and kissing him until they’re both breathless.

She’d step out of her dress with a little hop, tripping over it and sending her falling perfectly back into his arms. She’d probably land with enough force to send them both toppling to the floor, Blair figures, with her straddling his lap and making flustered apologies. He moans aloud thinking about her weight, her heat pressing down on him, and for a moment, he thinks he’s just going to come right then and there. But no, he can’t do that with a real woman, especially not with her- she’s part of the Elite Four, the greatest the world knows, and he’s a small-town kid who only beat her on dumb luck. Of course, she’d probably be all into that, telling him he’d be such an interesting character to write about, even as her fingers unzipping his jacket and pushing it off tell him she’s more interested in the real boy beneath her. He’s glad for that, he thinks, imagining himself almost shyly stripping off his shirt and letting her hands wander down his chest with an absent curiosity. Shauntal doesn’t strike him as the type who’d have any sexual experience, but as far as his fantasies, and most likely reality as well, are concerned, she’s got more than him.

You can touch me, you know, she’d say, a bit like a teacher and a bit like a friend, I’m not going to curse you or anything. Well, it probably wouldn’t sound quite like that, but Blair hasn’t got her vocabulary, so he just makes it up as he goes. He figures he’d have the guts to do it if they’ve already come this far, to gingerly cup her breast and maybe run his thumb across the nipple beneath her bra. He’s got no idea what her underwear would actually look like- either totally boring or all lacey, most likely. Since he’s not sure how to imagine it, it just sort of goes away, leaving their bare chests pressed together as they kiss some more, her glasses bumping his face with their increasing fervor. Let me take them off, he’d pant when her lips leave his. She’d shy away and make some excuse- girls with glasses are always like that, he’s found, though not like he’s been kissing any with Shauntal in mind. He’d sit up and maybe give her a shaky grin, because she’s sitting right on his crotch and the way she’s wiggling her hips in embarrassment is driving him mad. Blair shudders at the thought and begins to stroke himself a little harder, squeezing his eyes shut and arching his hips.

He’d cajole her into taking them off eventually, and she’d fold them up neatly and put them on some stack of books. Now that he thinks about it, Blair realizes he doesn’t even know what colour her eyes are, only that they’re wide with long lashes that may or may not come from mascara. He decides on brown for no real reason and imagines himself kissing her forehead gingerly, telling her she looks just fine. She’d squeak and mutter a little about how she can’t see a thing, but Blair would crook a finger under her chin and give her some witty line about not needing to see anything but him. He recalls that she’s no romantic, especially if her long, mind-bending books are anything to go by (he really did _try_  to read one once), so she’d probably laugh him off, but at this point, both of them are more interested in the main event, so away go her tights without any explanation, only for things to pull back into focus when she unbuttons his pants and lifts her hips a little so he can kick them off. Back in reality, he sits up and leans against the headboard, as much to save his sheets from imminent soiling as to put himself in their position, to feel something tangible.

She would probably insist on taking her gloves off, curling them down her arms like falling curtains as Blair doesn’t pay attention, too busy kissing her everywhere his mouth can reach, only just now realizing how bad he wants her. Bad _ly_ , she’d correct him, but the effect is spoiled by the fact that it comes out more like a moan. Her hand would dip tentatively beneath the waistband of his boxers and he’d make what he’s sure isn’t a very dignified noise when it wraps around his cock. Somehow, they skip the handjob and go right to the actual sex, even as Blair still imagines his hand to be hers- smaller, less brusque, but still quite human and tortuously good when he’s this close, hot pressure building in his abdomen and moving from there, like liquid fire.

He’s not really sure how he’d actually get in her, or what it even feels like, but he’s got enough of an idea to imagine her warm and tight around him, their bodies fitted together like an awkward jigsaw puzzle that somehow still makes sense. He doesn’t know the rest, so it’s mostly PG-13 torso-shots of them kissing and touching, hands roaming all over as they try and fail to repress any loud moans and cries. Blair’s given up on that, given up on anything that makes sense, feeling like he’s going to burst at any second. When he’s calmed down some, he’ll regret his utter lack of knowledge about the female side of sex, but simply by rule of what he’s seen in pornos, she comes first, with him following shortly after, gasping something that sounds like a garbled mixture of her name and several sexual stock phrases.

Face flushed and eyelids heavy, Blair glances at his hand, the sheets that got dirty anyways, and has to wonder what the hell is wrong with him, because at this rate, he’s jacked himself off to half of the Elite Four and isn’t quite sure he wants to know if there are any demented fantasies of Marshal or Caitlin sitting around in his head as well.


End file.
